A Sore Excuse for a Barn
by gold646
Summary: A seemingly normal, run-of-the-mill job with the Winchester brothers. Things go wrong. A Winchester goes missing. Blood is shed. Rated K for fighting and blood.
1. A Sore Excuse for a Barn

"Y/n, you stay here and-" Dean started, turning to yourself, sitting beside the youngest Winchester brother, Sam.

"If you think I'm going to stay here like a little kid, you're sorely mistaken." You cross your arms, giving him the deadliest, most intimidating look. You had been practicing.

"It's too dangerous." Dean reflected off the look, turning away to pick up a blade. Ancient, entrancing marks etched into the stainless metal.

"I can handle myself. I'm not as much dead weight as you think." Maybe you could guilt him into going? You hoped so. It worked. Dean's stubborn barrier weakened. "Fine; But you're staying beside us the _entire_ time, understand me?" You nod vigorously, my steps taking you up to Dean's side, staring up at his sharp features. I quickly looked away, realising your mistake as your cheeks bloomed a dark red, feeling flustered and pushy. _Don't be awkward! He's just your friend!_ You scold yourself, knowing you wished that wasn't the truth. "Hey, you okay?" Dean seemed to force you to look back up at him. Boy, he was tall. Or maybe you were just small. Which would stink. "Yeah, let's go."

They made it to the old, sad excuse for a barn without any issues. The planks of sagging wood hung like threads of string against the buildings fragile structure. "I thought demons would atleast have a good sense of fashion." You mumble to yourself as you try your best not to walk up to the barn with all the noise equality of a stampede. Sam vanished, stealthily crouching as he tiptoed to the other side of the dilapidated barn. Never being told the plan, you assume he was to cut them off at any sign of a problem. Dean and you slide through a gaping hole in the side of the building's door, as you tell yourself to stop breathing so much. Dean's boots falling over the gravel like a feather, yours acting like quite the opposite. You look at the barely-visible mass of shadow beside you- Dean. You had growing a major respect for him the day you met him, and it troubled you that it hadn't stopped there. Respect turned into admiration, and admiration had started massing into- well, you know. While the eldest Winchester was hard to see, you felt his forest green eyes glance to you as a ringing of metal echoed through the silent barn. Both of you stiffened, deciding yourself it was a mighty fine point now to take out your weapon. "What was-" A female voice was cut off, finding you were close enough to see their silhouettes shaped out in the scarce moonlight that leaked through the walls. "Shh." Another snapped.

"Well? Go get them!" The voice hissed, now distinctly male, followed by the sound of quickened footsteps. You look to your side, surprised to see Dean walk out calmly from the shadows and stab a lone demon in the back. The light fell from the body, the monster tumbling to the ground. So much for staying together. You watch as two demons walk briskly up to Dean, their eyes black as night. You run at one of them, as Dean slashes at the other. Taking the demon by surprise, you curse yourself as you slam the hilt of your idiotically _useless_ machete into the demons head. His head fell hard back onto the gravel before he threw you off, your heart dropping significantly as you slam against a wooden post. The barn shuddered. "Y/n!" Dean screamed, stabbing his foe in the heart, the demon flickering off like a defective light bulb. Pain exploded in your chest, making breathing difficult. Ears ringing, you stagger to your feet in horror as the demon saunters up to you. "Nice try, girlie." He pounds his hands against your wrists, hammering yourself against a wall. The barn groaned in protest, and the demon spun a wicked dagger in his thick fingers. Glaring at the demon through the nausea, you spit in his ugly maw. Your vision clears in the time it took him to growl and smack you, and you kick him in the crotch for the hope that he would loosen his grip. Success. Speeding out of his reach, you observe the unbelievable sight before her.

There had to have been more demons than they had expected. Two demons closed in on Dean, a smear of blood across his grim mug as he backed up, confusingly unarmed. You hear the sounds of Sam fighting on the shaky hay loft, grunting with effort. You and Dean were alone in this. While staring in terror at Dean, he locked her gaze with his own. "Y/n, run!" He yelled. Unfortunately no demons turned to look for her; except, for her apparently new best friend, and the demon grinning psychotically. "There's Mrs. America!" He chuckles as he lunges for you. Luckily with your small stature, you zipped out of his way, beelining out of the broken barn. Dean grunted in pain behind her, Sam yelling something she couldn't comprehend. Your heart tore at itself in your chest. Every fiber of your mind told you to turn back and help the Winchesters, but let your body fall into auto-pilot momentarily in shameful panic. Sooner or later, you couldn't take it. You whipped around, your hair following with high velocity. Just in time to see Dean get dragged from the barn, a knife at his throat. "Dean!"


	2. Stir Crazy

You were going insane. It's funny, you never noticed how much you needed a person until they were gone. Dean had been missing for 3 weeks now, and you have been kept in the stuffy bunker the entire time while Sam went on his own stoic expedition. You restlessly roamed the halls, counting times on the floor until you got dizzy. Whenever Sam came back on his rare "check-in's", you would complain, and he would reply with the same thing. "You're too young, Y/n. I am not going to lose you too. Just because you're a little stir-crazy doesn't mean you can go off on a crazy, unplanned journey to find Dean." Jerk. A few years difference did not matter- in fact, you were about the same age as Sammy. You decide to keep yourself busy by attempting at studying up the Mark of Cain, memorizing ways to hunt monsters; eventually they all fell pale in comparison to helping the Winchesters. You guess that must be how all Sam and Dean's old friends felt- before they died. This didn't sound promising. It wasn't as if you hadn't tried to leave, though. Sam had boarded up the bunker so tight that dust molts couldn't slip in. Bolted shut, no way out. You were trying to pry the door open when a crowbar for the 15th time when it flew open, comically knocking you to the ground, the crowbar clattering noisily beside you. "Sam?" You ask, trying to shield your eyes from the fierce afternoon rays. "Y/n, Dean's hurt." You hear his voice echo nervously, as your vision adjusts to the blazing sunshine. Sam held a crumpled Dean winchester in his enormous hands, bleeding from a deep wound in his side, decent scratches and bruises scrambled over his body to mix it up. You suck in a breath, gathering yourself to your feet before rushing to the first-aid closet. You snatch the supplies you need before skidding back into Dean's room, where Sam had placed his brother. Healing and dressing wounds had always been your sort of thing- the boys were too squeamish. After several angry questions and paper towels, Dean's wounds laid dressed under a healthy wrapping of bandages. Being able to step back to observe your patient fully now, your breath was taken away at the beauty of him. The imperfections that made him perfection. Sam sat in the corner, muttering his explanation. "I found him back at the barn- the demons had gone back, I guess- just like this. That's all I know, Y/n, I swear." For once, it seemed like the Winchester was telling the truth about his old brothers sudden discovery. You grunt angrily in response. Worry bit at your sides as you stared at Dean's unconscious body, dried blood matting his chestnut hair. "Well, we can only wait now." You hated to say it. There had to be _something_\- something you could do to help him. It had been too easy. Both you and Sam knew that. Someone doesn't just find their missing brother in the exact place he went missing, no one around him for miles. There was something deeper- an implicit, ugly truth. You were scared to find it out. Sam lifted himself off the creaking wooden chair, and laying a gentle hand on your shoulder, he tried to lead you out of the room along with him. "I'm gonna stay- to make sure his wounds don't reopen or anything…." You mumble meaninglessly, as you jerk your shoulder away from the Winchester and set yourself down on a chair beside Dean's bed. Sam got the message. "Alright, but don't be here all night. I'll take the night shift." You nod, too lost in thought to comprehend his plans. "Y/n." Sam said in a seriously, no-joking tone, forcing to detach your eyes from Dean's wounded body. "I mean it." He demands, surprising yourself at the grim attitude he took on. Knowing he wouldn't let you stay with Dean at all if you didn't say yes, you agree reluctantly. That shut up the eerily serious Sam Winchester, and you listen as his footsteps echo into the library. Focusing back on Dean, you hold back a whimper. Seeing him in such a damaged state didn't help your growing love for him, and sympathy for him clutched at your throat as you reached out and- hesitantly- grabbed his hand. Rough and calloused from years of hunting, you ran your fingers over his own. "What am I going to do with you…" You laugh through the worries, staring at the ground of the remarkably clean bedroom. You knew you were insane for speaking to an unconscious body, but it seemed to help your rising fear that you felt would engulf yourself. "What happened back there, huh? Why'd you slip up? You never slip up." You replay your memory of the night in the back of your head like a DVD. "Was it because of me?" You add softly, looking back up at Dean's face. Jeez, you sounded self-centered for asking. Now you _really_ hoped he couldn't hear you. That was all you said to him, spending the rest of the time watching him doing a mixture of worrying, pacing, and self-loathing. One hour. Two hours. Three. Four. Five hours, passed. You grew tired, and fortunately Sammy hadn't ordered her to leave yet, so you sat back down in the squeaky wooden chair and rested your next to Dean's shoulder. You eventually fell into a fitful, nightmare-plagued doze.

You woke up who knows when, Sam shaking you awake. "Go to bed, Y/n."

"Sam-" You looked up at him sleepily.

"No. Go to bed, Y/n." Sam ordered.

"Please." You plead, staring up at him with desperate eyes.

Sam gave in with a sigh, but only agreed if he sat with him. You agreed immediately, feeling selfish for thinking only of yourself in this situation. Sam must be been upset too. "So, how are you with this?" You try to ask casually in the long, somber silence of the room. "Well, as good as you can be when you find your brother, bleeding and half-dead, in an old barn with the monster that did it no where in sight." Sam admitted, pulling both of his hands through his hair. "Yeah…" You sigh, getting out of your chair, and starting to pace again. "And with all of the recent stuff with the Mark..."

"Yeah." Sam Winchester grunts, looking defeated.

That's when Dean Winchester himself, gasped in a ragged breath- thos forest green eyes snapping open.


	3. Awkward Silence and Microwave Popcorn

He was alive. He was alive. Dean Winchester was _not_ dead. "Dean!" You yell in joy, gently squeezing his hand. "What…?" His voice is a gruff scratch, and he cleared it before speaking again. "Y/n, Sammy…. What's happening?" Dean asks, wincing as he tries to sit up. "Dean, relax, relax, your fine." Sam comforts, though his grim expression still planted on his mug. As a Winchester does, though, Dean refused and sat up, grunting with effort in the process. "What happened…?" He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept through the whole day. "Demons got you. We found you and brought you back." Sam explains, obviously trying to keep it simple. _Good, we don't want him to freak out,_ You agree to yourself. Dean nods a bit, his own glassy-eyed expression focusing on a faraway object. "Are you okay?" You ask, the remnants of past worrying catching in your own throat.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Great." Dean shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts, but his expression lasts. "We'll let you rest." Sam claps Dean on the back in a brotherly hug. "Glad to see you're okay, Dean." Though Dean doesn't reply, Sam walks out, unaffected. Once the long silence between you two seemed to drone on, you stepped in on the opportunity. "I'm so sorry." You blurt out, feeling the rising guilt bubble back into your throat anew. The injured Winchester turns his head and stares at you, but stays in his own detached calm. "Look, Y/n-" Dean rubbed the back of his neck, awkward moments sprouting from the sudden apology. Great, you had ruined it. _Stupid!_ You resisted the urge to slam your head into the nearest wall. "- I'm kinda beat from all this demon stuff. Can I talk to you about it later?" Dean looks at you with a glazed kindness, as if he was convincing a child that there were no monsters under the bed. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I'll let you sleep." You eject yourself from the bedside chair as you hurry out of the room, before Dean could see the tears that began to plunge down your burning cheeks. You can't believe you did that. He just woke up, and you go and guilt trip him? That wasn't a fair move on your side. Deciding now was the right time, you close yourself into your room for an extended period of face-walling. _Idiot._

Dean walked around with a sunken look on his face, a distant expression as if he were off in another world. Of course, you didn't notice _that _much. You didn't stare. Definitely not during breakfast, behind a box of Cheerios. Goodness, you were such a creep. When you tried to alert Sam of your concerns, he shrugged off the matter, denying the fact that Dean wasn't anything but normal. You hadn't spoke to Dean directly since the night he woke up, and you felt the awkward, strange tension strung out like wire between you both since. Maybe it was all in your head. Even in everyday instances, though, Dean seemed off. Like a shell of a man, wandering blindly throughout his own head, and ignoring all else. No, this wasn't Dean- Not _your_ Dean. Something more had to have occurred while he was missing, and the foreboding of the truth drew you awake every night.

With all the emotional confusion you felt between yourself and Dean, you stayed in your room most days. Catching up on important things such as sleeping, research, and the latest season of Doctor Who. Few times did you leave the sanctuary of your room to expose yourself to the Winchester brothers, usually nothing occurred. Routine small talk from Sam, prevailing silence from Dean. Only today, while snagging a bag of popcorn from the microwave, did Sam bring your attention to the absence of his brother. "He told me he was going out to grab some supplies, and that was an hour and a half ago." The thickening sense of dread plummeted to the pit of your stomach like a barbell. "Let's go." You sling your jacket on, and run to the door, your shoes clattering on the gravel. Your dismay deepened when you saw the impala, undisturbed besides a white paper flitting under the windshield wiper:

**Don't follow me.**

Paralyzed in anguish, Sam took the note in his hand, grinding it up into a ball before stuffing it into his pocket. His jaw set stubbornly, "Well, let's go find him."

_Thank you so much for all of you that follow and read! Please comment to let me know your thoughts on the story so far! Thank you!_


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